Ode to Bill the pony
by Eilianniel
Summary: A one-shot focussing on the journey of the fellowship through the eyes and ears of Bill the pony. An ode to the only true tenth member of the fellowship of the ring.


**Ode to Bill**

He was already an old pony when he met his true master. A skinny, dull-furred, old pony. He was glad to be rid of the old, mean man though, when finally his master did arrive. He was far smaller than the other two-footed creatures that were supposed to care for them in exchange for the work he and his kind did for them. Which in itself gave him hope that he may be different. Though he smelled just as strange.

He came with four other two-feet. Three of them just as short and hairless, but for the small tufts of short, curly hair on their heads and furry, huge feet. The last was very tall, the tallest two-foot Bill had ever seen. And they took him.

They took him across plains and over hills. Until on a hill with big stones THEY came again. The scary shadows of the night before he met his master. The ones that had spooked them all away, all his fellow horses and ponies, except him. He had not had the strength.

But he had strength now, and so he reared and bucked with all his new-found strength. 'Flee, Flee! Flee, we must' But the strange two-feet had never understood his kind, and instead of fleeing like sensible creatures they stayed around their fire.

It was all wrong, but his master had come and spoke soft, comforting sounds to him, and he trusted his master. And so he stilled his bucking and rearing, but remained tense, ready to flee from the shadow-creatures that felt of evil.

He ended up being right. The short, serious two-foot with the slight evil-feel was injured, and his evil-feel was increased a bit. But his master loved the serious one greatly, and thought him of great importance. So he gladly carried the injured two-foot for his master.

Long days they travelled, him always carrying the injured one on his back. And they rested only for a short time each night, but even so, his master always came to feed and brush him. And the tall two-foot, who, he'd found out, was also kind to him and spoke words he understood better, also came to thank him and feed him treats or pet him often.

And they spoke kind, comforting words to him. Even when the condition of the serious, short two-foot continued to decline. And when the glowing two-foot came on the large white horse and took the injured two-foot away, he felt their relief that help had come, and he was glad.

The rest of the journey was more relaxed, but also more nervous as the two-feet ached to know of the hopefully previously injured one. But then they finally reached the valley with all the glowing two-feet.

And Bill received a stall and a place in a field with the others of his kind. And every day he could eat and drink his fill, and every day the glowing two-feet came and gently brushed his fur, and fed him treats and hay, and spoke gentle words to him, telling him he had been brave and he was safe now.

And he was glad, but he missed his master. And then his master came back, carrying a basketful of treats and speaking kind words of apology. And he was truly happy.

And so it stayed for several moon-cycles. Until one day, in the cold season, his master tacked him up and took him along on another journey. A journey filled with large, evil wolves that would kill just for fun and over harsh and unforgiving landscapes.

And there were even more two-feet this time. The four, short, hairy-footed ones were there, including his master, the tall two-foot from the previous journey, another, similar, but broader, tall two-foot, the pointy, grey, powerful, warm one, a short-but-not-quite-as-short-as-his-master, hairy broad one, and, much to his delight, one of the glowing two-footed creatures, who would speak to him of trees and warm stalls and happy places.

And even though the labour was hard, and the walks long, and sometimes in the night, he was glad to be with his master and to be helpful to him. The last few moon cycles had seen him returned to good health, and he was undeterred by the long walks.

There was snow in the air now. Actually there was snow everywhere. It was cold but his fur was long and kept him warm. The two-feet were bothered though, shivering and pale they were. Strange two-feet, having shed so much of their fur. No wonder they were cold.

The mountain they were trying to cross was throwing snow at them with a vengeance. It was stacked all the way up to his belly and it was getting harder and harder to get through. The pass itself was narrow, barely broad enough for three two-feet to walk abreast most of the way. With a sheer, naked mountainside at one side and a steep drop on the other.

Not long after the snowfall turned into a full-blown blizzard, and the snow got too deep to navigate through. The two tallest and the glowing two-feet left for a while, going back the way they had come. In the meantime Bill pushed his nose against his master's shoulder, hoping to comfort him. And he dug a ditch in the snow and laid down in the snow, hoping his master would accept this attempt at sharing warmth.

To his delight his master did indeed sit down by him, cuddling his neck. And the other small two-feet joined him to lay around him in a tangle of limbs, whispering words of praise to him. 'Clever Bill, good Bill.' They said.

And when the tall two-feet came back they were somewhat better rested and warm enough to start their journey back down. And they did, though it took even longer than the trek up had. And all involved were exhausted by the time they got down.

But Bill was feeling skittish. He could hear the evil-wolves getting closer. The two-feet were too tired to deal with it. They didn't hear or feel them as they would have otherwise. And when they reached their campsite on the top of a hill they all but dropped into sleep instantly. Only the shorter, hairy, the tall, glowing and the grey two-feet were awake enough to set up a watch.

The night was dark and moonless, and the evil-wolves were closing in on them by the hour. Bill could feel them, they were close, and they were evil. All around them they were now. And the instinct to flee was almost too much to resist.

He started pulling on his leadrope and halter and pawing the ground in his restlessness. And then the evil-wolves were upon them, and the fighting started. Bill reared, bucked and kicked at everything that came close as his survival instincts took over.

There were too many evil-wolves, and too few of them. And a deep feeling of evil had spread all over the campsite. They were losing. But then the grey two-foot called up a glow, which then became a wave of light, and the evil-wolves were burned and driven off by it.

Wounds were bound, camp was packed up. And then they were moving again. Walking until they got into a deep gorge. And then they kept walking still. They climbed rocks, crossed a lake, and then they stopped before a smooth, steep mountainside. And here it was that the tall, shaggy two-foot, the glowing one and his master turned to him, took off his tack, and set him loose with the words: "Run, run Bill. Go back to Bree, where we found you. We will find you there again, but for now you must run."

And so he ran, trusting his master and his companions with his life. He ran back across cliffs, over hills and through plains and forests. Running and keeping away from the evil wolves and two-feet that would snap at him at times. And he ran until he found his hometown again, but it felt like a home no longer. Not without his master.

But he stayed. Master had promised to come back. And so he waited for many moon-cycles. Staying in the original hometown where his former master put him to work again, and where he got no treats, was not brushed or spoken to in comfort, and barely got enough food to stay alive. But even though he could, he would not flee. He would not abandon his master.

And then the glorious day came on which his master did return, along with the other short, furry-footed two-feet. And he was happy, Oh-so happy. Take him his master did. He rode him, the other way from where they'd gone before. And took him to a place with rolling hills and open fields where there were many, so many of the short, furry-footed two-feet. Most of them even shorter than his master and his friends.

And this time, they stayed in the place with rolling hills and fields. And he got a warm stall, a fine field with more of his kind to spend time with. And his master would come to brush, feed and talk to him almost every day. And sometimes, they would even go out to ride.

And later his master brought his young to see him, taught them to how to ride on him, and they would bring with them yet more treats, and Bill was happy to teach the young ones. And when he got too old to ride he spent more of his time in the fields, with the others of his kind.

And when the time came for him to leave this world, his master was there, talking comfortingly to him. But he was not afraid. He had led the happiest life a pony could thanks to his master. And as he let out his dying breath, he felt content to be able to look back on a lifetime of good memories.


End file.
